What's in a Name?
by Black-Angel-001
Summary: Some names are really hard to pronounce. This takes it to the next level. One shot, warnings inside. Nothing very, very bad. -evil grin-


**What's in a Name?**

**Black-Angel-001: reading quatre's name is quirky cause it's got about 20+ different pronunciations...we won't go through all of them, but let's try a few, shall we? special thanks to my little bro for being the inspiration and colaborator on this!**

**Warning: If it seems like we're making fun of people, well, we kinda are. Actually, it's the accents we're making fun of. :D Yes, we're evil stereotypers, but remember, we aren't racist, we hate everyone equally! PS, don't tell me that the spelling is F**kced up, that's on purpose, as is the most recent spelling of the f-bomb.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own GW or Quatre, but I am borrowing them.**

**What's in a Name?**

As Quatre walked through the halls of the senate building, he went over his notes in his head, and how he would handle the introductions to the rest of the politicians. He knew they had reservations about him being there, what with his being so young (although he was only 23) so he was determined to make a good impression. He walked into the double doors where the meeting would be held, seeing that it hadn't started yet. Quatre put on his biggest, brightest and most charming smile, then went up to the first person he saw, cleared his throat, and stuck out his hand when the man turned around.

"Hello, I'm Quatre Raberba Winner, it's a pleasure to meet you."

The large burly man looked at his hand, took the cigar out of his mouth, and shook it firmly and strongly.

"Why, hello thar young'un. Names JD Rockerfeller, but you cen call me Bubba," he said in a strong country accent. "Whatcha say yer name was? Qwuatrey Rabarbra Winner? Hell, son, yer last name's the only thang that makes sense!" Quatre stared after him as JD 'Bubba' Rockerfeller walked away laughing. He shook his head and moved on.

"Hi, I'm Quatre Raberba Winner," he said with a smile and nod of the head to a small, stout and balding man.

"Well, I'm wery pweased to meet you," the short man said, smiling back. "My name is Wobert Fwank. You said your name was Qwatre Wrababbwa Winnew? Eheheheheheheheh."

Quatre smiled politely and moved on. He saw an Asian man standing off near the corner, and thinking of his friendship with Heero, figured that he could hold a decent conversation with him.

"I'm Quatre Raberba Winner, it's nice to meet you." Instead of offering his hand, he bowed slightly at the waist.

"Nice to meet you Tuatre Raberbwa Winna," the Japanese man said with a slight bow of his own. Quatre figured he wouldn't mind if he just walked away.

"So, you're Katreh Raberbeh Winner, eh?" A distinctive voice said. Quatre turned, smiled forcefully, said something nice, and made excuses to leave. He did so quickly.

With a long sigh, he went to the bar, determined to get a drink to calm his irritation. He ordered a scotch whiskey and passed the brief time waiting looking around the room. There was a thud on the bar and Quatre looked to his right. A man even bigger than 'Bubba' was standing there, shooting back a clear liquid. He turned to Quatre and for an instant the young man was scared for his life. The man laughed loudly.

"???????????Motherland?????vodka?????, eh, comrade?" He waited expectantly for an answer.

"Uh....yeah?" Quatre had no idea what he'd just said, but he figured agreeing was the better option.

The large man laughed out loud again, slapping Quatre on the shoulders and back. Quatre downed his second scotch and whiskey, smiled stiffly and walked away, rubbing his shoulder.

Right in his path were two men, standing there and making conversation. The crowd was pressing around them, so Quatre couldn't go around on either side and he couldn't go back and take a different path. He was trapped.

"Hi, I'm Milly," said the one on the right.

"You can't be Milly," the one on the left said.

"But I'm always Milly," argued the right side.

"No, you were Milly yesterday. You can't be Milly two days in a row."

"Why not," asked the man on the right, putting out his hands, palms up.

"Because you are from Germany, and I am from French," reasoned the other.

"Oh, okay. Hi, we are Milly," he pointed to the man to the left, "Vanilly," he pointed to himself.

"Um. Hi. I'm...Quatre Raberba Winner," he introduced.

"Oh, I've heard of you," said Milly.

"Yes, you are Quatre," at the correct pronunciation, Quatre's eyes lit up with hope. Maybe...? "Raberba," Just maybe...! "Weiner!"

Quatre felt like the universe was shattering around him into millions of tiny, itty bitty pieces of black hole. "I beg your pardon? My name is Winner."

"Tis what I say! Weiner!"

"No, it's Winner."

"Why you repeat what I say? Weiner."

"Winner."

"Weiner."

"Winner!"

"Weiner!"

As this went on, Milly looked back and forth between them like he was at a ping pong match and people turned their heads as their voices grew louder and louder.

"Winner!!"

"Weiner!!"

"No, W-in-ner," pronounced Quatre.

"Yes, W-ein-er," pronounced Vanilly just as carefully.

With a cry of rage/dismay/sadness/hopelessness, Quatre stormed out of the room, an expression on his face to rival Heero's. The door slammed shut and all was quiet for four seconds.

"???????????," exclaimed the stout Russian.

"Took it right outta the horsess mouth," said Bubba with wonder.

**Black-Angel-001: so, really, what's in a name huh?**


End file.
